desperation
Started an internship. I’m camping out for 2 weeks at a time with a weekend off in between each hitch. Hard, manual labor. Swinging an axe. Digging holes. In the desert. Back country. Hike camp in, hike it out. Hike to the work site. Hike back to camp.
It feels like some sort of behavioral detention camp. If you met some of these guys I’m working with, you’d agree. Also, we are never really allowed to be away from the group. Not for safety reasons, but for social improvement. I feel like under a telescope. Like they’re judging every interaction I have for signs of insanity. No exclusive relationships. This includes sexual relationships, friendships, and self seclusion. And I share a tent with a hot bisexual woman. Do you know how hard it is to fuck yourself out here? It makes me wanna fuck someone. I guess, by definition, I could have an open relationship with everyone. Don’t think that would fly.
We had this weekend off. I let my tent mate stay over until further couch surfing opportunities opened up. I don’t think she’s attracted to me, though.
I had my best friend stay the weekend as well. And another coworker, who’s camp was getting rained out. He stayed over. It would’ve been nice to have some alone time for a change, but I’m a bleeding heart. I over booked myself.
He’s doing the whole homeless 20 something year old thing. Where you hop trains and travel the country with a backpack and a skateboard. It’s crazy. I dig it.
So, being a person who could go weeks without social interaction, it was a trying weekend. I was already exhausted from work. I was horny as hell from many unsatisfying attempts of masturbation in a public tent and working around young men who reeked of body odor and hormones. Body odor; what an aphrodisiac.
I found myself with my house raided with company that I’d been stuck with for weeks and was becoming increasingly frustrated. Mid afternoon, people were starting to go down for naps and I stole off to my bedroom, but I left the door open. I couldn’t find restful sleep all weekend. I was overstimulated.
I saw him go into the bathroom next to my room. I heard him in there for awhile. He wasn’t peeing. I knew he was masturbating. I was so worked up, I couldn’t stand it.
He is beautiful, and harmless. His blonde hair is never clean and he never can scrub off that smell of his body. I’ve come to crave it over the weeks.
Stockholm Syndrome is occurring here. After constantly being forced together with these guys for so long, I feel a bit painfully disconnected when they aren’t around me. I can’t imagine how hard this is going to get as the time progresses.
He’s been masturbating for some time. I pull out my vibrator and lay back. It hurts to thrust my fingers inside because I’ve tightened up significantly. I orgasmed violently and couldn’t entirely silence myself. I think he heard me.
I cut that hair of his. He wanted a trim, so I sat him down in a chair and went after his locks. I stood behind him and tousled his hair. I ran my fingers slowly through it as my eyes rolled up and took a deep breath. I stood with my hips against him and my fingers in his hair. I think there was a mutual intrigue in the progressing situation. I could see his eyes softening and his breath deepen. He put a hand on my hip and traced circles with his fingers against my skin. He searched my face but I was guarded and wouldn’t meet his eyeline. No exclusive relationships.